


you have forsaken yourself

by nd_mindoir



Series: [brainstorm collection] a thousand cuts upon the soul [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Psychological Trauma, Slice of Life, This is no complete story, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, don't goad the banshee, only brainstorming, sylvaina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 15:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nd_mindoir/pseuds/nd_mindoir
Summary: When Lor'themar makes the mistake of comparing Sylvanas to the Lich King, only one person is able to calm her down.





	you have forsaken yourself

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is a draft, simple brainstorming done by a friend and me. It is not proof-read in any way!
> 
> We think about writing a Sylvaina story and are gathering ideas that might or might not make it into the story later if we ever decide to write it. The rough outline is that Jaina and Sylvanas knew each other before WC3. Jaina thought her dead until WotLK and Sylvanas doesn't truly remember their relationship. The story would begin in WotLK and more or less follow canon from there on.

Undefined Horde Camp

The men are at it again. Arguing amongst themselves, their voices becoming closer to shouts with every word. Granted, it is partly her fault, her most recent plan has once again split the leaders of the Horde in their opinions.

“You are talking about raising a whole graveyard and binding them to your will!”

Ah, finally one of them addresses her directly. Though she did not expect it to be Lor’themar.

“Quite perceptive.”

“And you have no qualms with this? Nothing at all?”

She inclines her head as she stares at him. In moments like these it bugs her that she is smaller than any of them, save for Gallywix. But the intense burning of her crimson eyes provides the authority she lacks in height.

“We need an army, Lor’themar.”

“We have an army!”

The room becomes dead silent as the sin’dorei shouts at their warchief with barely concealed anger.

“Not enough”, Sylvanas remains calm, refusing to meet his volume. “We are dwindling with every minute this war keeps going. We need more people, stronger and faster and more relentless. The forsaken need not sleep nor eat. They have inhuman strength and speed. And they are loyal.”

“Yes, but they are loyal because they believe in you, because you saved them. You plan on raising hundreds and force them to follow you”, he shakes his head. “You are no better than Arth-”

Before he can finish the name, Sylvanas grabs the taller elf at his throat and shoves him against the wall with a scream ready on her lips.

“How dare you!”

Her eyes burn brighter as she snarls at him, showing her fangs. Shadow seeps from her skin as the banshee inside of her threatens to burst through it.

“How dare you compare me to that monster!”

She barely notices how the rest of them scatter out of the room as soon as Lor’themar has hit the wall. Only Baine remains, his heavy hooves shuffle forward as he tries to approach the arguing pair. The tauren chieftain has always been too meek for his own good.

“Warchief, please remain calm.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Air fills her long-dead lungs. Many years ago, this might have actually helped, but instead it only agitates her further as it reminds her of what she is. She hears those damning voices in her head, the screams of anguish.

“You agree with him”, she whispers after a while.

Her fingers are still wrapped around the sin’dorei’s neck, though lessened in its firmness. The shadows return into her body, calming down inside her.

“I do.”

“I am not like him”, it is clear to everyone left that this is the sore spot, the one problem she has with this. She doesn’t have any qualms about raising the dead. But being compared to the Lich King is another matter. “I am offering them another chance.”

She opens her eyes and turns her head to the tauren. He’s still a good distance away from her, just enough so that she cannot reach out to attack him. Of course, were she to shift into the banshee, it wouldn’t matter and they all know it. He tilts his head and the feathers hanging from his horn and hair dangle against each other.

“And if they do not want it? What if they do not wish to follow you? You will not have freed these from Arthas. You will have denied them peace. If you could have chosen, would you have wanted this?”

_Sylvanas falls in front of him, the heavy blade twisting in her torso. She screams at him, tears running down her cheeks, burning into her skin._

_‘The last thing I give you is the peace of death.’_

“That does not make me like him”, it sounds more like she tries to convince herself rather than Lor’themar and Baine.

“It makes you worse”, Lor’themar snarls at her. “He was possessed by Frostmourne long before he became the Lich King. What excuse do you have?”

Sylvanas’ head snaps back to her old friend, her eyebrows drawn low in a deep frown as she stares at him.

“Do not talk to me like this. I gave my life to protect my people, to protect you!”

“No. Our ranger-general did that. My commanding officer and friend died. You are nothing but a monster walking around in her body, destroying her name.”

The whispers in her head grow louder, the pain insufferable. She wants to throw him across the room, pull her blade and cut at him, rid him of his stupid expression, but before she can act on any of those impulses, there is a new voice. Female and soft, almost pleading but sounding like a command.

“Sylvanas.”

Suddenly, everyone present freezes. Pure shock evident on both Baine and Lor’themar’s faces, but Sylvanas merely closes her eyes again as she feels cold creeping up her spine, the kind of cold that can only be produces by magic. It is soon followed by heat as a hand touches her arm and burns right through her armor.

“Let him go, Sylvanas.”

She reopens her eyes and, with a final shove against the wall, does as asked and takes a step backwards, closer to the source of frost and heat.

“Leave”, she finally whispers.

“Are- Do you-”, Baine hesitates, alternating between staring at the undead elf and the human as his heavy palm rest on the handle of his mace. “Shall we call the guards?”

“No”, the answer is immediate and leaves no room for discussion. “Just leave.”

It takes another few seconds, but eventually the tauren bows and turns to walk out of the room. Lor’themar remains a bit longer, staring at her with a bewildered expression, but there’s something else in his eyes. Recognition? He looks like he’s going to say something, but eventually he nods at her and follows the tauren out.

“How long have you been spying on us?”, Sylvanas asks.

She walks over to the table they have all been seated at one point during this evening, before the stubborn sin’dorei decided to goad her. She drops into her chair, suddenly feeling tired in a way she hasn't felt since dying and stares at the human who hasn’t moved at all.

“The Wrathgate, Varian, Teldrassil, Undercity, and now this. You **are** becoming him”, Jaina whispers and takes a tentative step towards Sylvanas.

The banshee queen sighs and rubs her forehead. This makes her the third person today to tell her just what kind of monster she is. The fourth if she counts her own thoughts and doubts.

“The Wrathgate and Varian were not my doing”, Sylvanas says and decidedly ignores how much the rest of her accusations were, at least partly, her though.

“But you do not deny the rest?”

Jaina almost sounds like she wishes Sylvanas would do just that, would simply tell her that nothing of it were her, that she was forced to do, that she was merely carrying out someone else’s plan. It would be a blatant lie and they both know it. She couldn’t say it even if she wanted to.

“When did I ever not own up to any of my deeds?”

The mage sighs and averts her eyes. She stares towards the doorway that leads out of the room. The only exit there is, which leaves the question of how she got inside in the first place, but Sylvanas decides to not question this now.

“Was he wrong?”, Jaina asks then. “About Frostmourne? I know the blade was shattered, but-”

“You search for excuses on my behalf”, Sylvanas interrupts her bluntly. “There are none.”

Blue eyes move up to meet the crimson glow. The human shakes her head slightly as she stares down at the seated woman, as if trying to read her thoughts.

“You still hear it though, don’t you? It may not command you anym-”

“No.”

“Sylvanas, I’m just trying to help you here”, Jaina says desperately and closes the last bit of distance between them. “I want to understand.”

She kneels down in front of the banshee whose eyes have dropped to the ground. Long fingers reach out and brush against a cold cheek. Bits of arcane run through them and tickle the skin. It’s an old habit of days long past, when Sylvanas was still alive and needed to be surrounded by magic like any quel’dorei did. It doesn’t provide the same comfort anymore, and yet, she finds herself closing her eyes and leaning into the touch.

“It’s not Frostmourne”, she finally admits.

“Arthas then?”

Red eyes flicker up and for a moment Sylvanas asks herself if Jaina still hears him or has nightmares about him. She suffered at his hand as well, in a whole different manner but still. He is the one thing that will forever bind them together, no matter where they go or what may happen.

“Myself.”

The hand drops from her cheek into her lap. The fingers play with a buckle of Sylvana’s leather cuirass as Jaina mulls over the single word.

“I don’t think I understand”, she eventually admits.

“I hear myself.”

She hasn’t told this before, not Jaina, not Lor’themar, not Nathanos. It was her one true secret, eating away at her every time there was no distraction.

“As I begged him for mercy, for a clean death. I hear myself screaming as he flayed my soul. I feel it, all the time. Like a thousand cuts.”

Jaina doesn’t say anything, she merely stares up at her, eyes glistening with tears she does not dare to shed. She knows Sylvanas wouldn’t want her pity, and yet that’s exactly what the elf sees on the face. It disgusts her to have become a creature people decide to pity of all things.

“Tell me what to do.”

“Nothing”, Sylvanas responds, her tone almost indifferent.

The momentarily glimpse into the banshee’s mind and pain was just that, a moment. Too fleeting to truly catch onto it. Already her carefully crafted, stoic mask is back in place. She stands up from the chair and walks around the kneeling Jaina. She heads for the door, her hand already on the handle, but she doesn’t open it as she recalls just who the mage is to everyone but her. Whoever may lurk behind it, must not see her here.

“You may go.”

“What?”, Jaina scoff and raises to her feet. “No, I won’t just leave now.”

“This does not concern you, Jaina. It has nothing to do with you.”

“It has **everything** to do with me!”, the mage shouts at her.

The temperature in the room drops by several degrees, ice spreads on the floor starting beneath Jaina’s feet and blue eyes glow slightly as anger and pain take over. Sylvanas keeps her back straight and gaze firmly fixed on the mage, seemingly unphased by the sudden display of raw arcane power.

“How exactly?”

“Are you really that dense or do you just not care? It has been years, when will you get it into that thick skull of yours that I love you, Sylvanas?”

The banshee blinks at her. This isn’t exactly news to her; they had this conversation already. A couple of times, actually. But never before had it been shouted into her face.

“Seas guide me, I tried to hate you and wish I wouldn’t care after everything that happened, but I do, and I cannot stop just because you ask me to.”

“I am not asking you to. I am telling you that there is nothing for you to love. Lor’themar was right, the Sylvanas you knew is dead.”

“I don’t believe that”, Jaina shakes her head. “Tides, **you** don’t believe that. I doubt Lor’themar truly believes it either.”

“Does that matter if everyone else does? We call ourselves forsaken, Jaina. And we do not do so without reason.”

“Yes, the undead of Lordaeron were forsaken and chose to follow you instead. The quel’dorei were forsaken which drove them away forever, both the living and the dead. But you? Personally?”

Only now does Jaina visibly calm down. Her eyes return to the stormy blue without the mana swirling inside the orbs and the ice withdraws as the temperature rises again. But her voice turns mournful rather than calm.

“You weren’t forsaken. You were thought dead. I would have done everything to have you back. As would Vereesa. We still would. We have not forsaken you, Sylvanas. You simply never reached out. You didn’t even try. You have forsaken yourself.”

Sylvanas grinds her teeth for a moment, seething at the words. They hit home far too close for her comfort.

“I didn’t remember, Jaina. There was nothing in my mind but glimpses and pieces, surrounded by pain.”

“Even in Dalaran?”

She averts her eyes in answer. No, in Dalaran she remembered, or at least began to remember. It took time, but eventually she knew who the human was, who they’ve been to each other prior to her death.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. I know there is a part of you that still loves me. However small that may be.”

Silence fills the room once more, with Sylvanas looking everywhere but at Jaina and the mage shaking her head with a sad sigh.

“Tell yourself all the lies you want. When you finally realize that doesn’t help and you’re ready to confront the truth, you know where to find me. I will wait. I am tired of reaching out, but I will always be waiting.”

With that, Jaina draws a rune into the air and, a second later, flashes out of the room and back to wherever she was before.

It takes almost an hour of ignoring the conflicting feelings inside her after the mage’s disappearance, but when Sylvanas finally opens the damn door, she’s not entirely surprised to be staring at two of her faction leaders. Lor’themar is pacing a trench into the floor and Baine follows his movements with concern in his eyes. At the slight squeak of the door’s hinges, their heads snap up to the warchief.

“Lord-Regent, High Chieftain”, she addresses them both. “I trust that you have informed no one of what transpired here?”

She cannot be sure how much the both of them heard. There was a lot of shouting involved in the arguments and though the walls are thick enough to not let any sound through, the doors are not. Even if they haven’t heard a single word, the sheer presence of the kul tiran mage is a knowledge that should not be common.

“No, warchief”, Baine answers. “We simply remained to ensure you and your… guest… were undisturbed.”

“Much appreciated.”

When they don’t make any move to walk away, both figuratively and literally, Sylvanas sighs and steps back into the room gesturing them both inside. Of course, they wouldn’t just leave this alone. She should count herself lucky that it were them that saw Jaina appear in the middle of their council and not someone like Gallywix or belore forbid Nathanos. She has known Lor’themar too long to truly fear for his repercussions, despite his earlier display. And Baine would listen to reason before acting, if he decided to act at all.

“Jaina Proudmoore”, Baine whispers into the silence. “I would expect many people to drop in unannounced to keep you from killing the lord-regent, but certainly not her.”

“I must admit I am not all that surprised. We have known her for many years”, Lor’themar offers.

“What do you mean?”

“From before the third war”, he responds to the tauren, then moves his eyes to the banshee, silently asking for permission to shed light on the tale. In all honesty, she didn’t expect him to remember, he never said a word, but she nods at him to continue. “Kael’thas was smitten with a young human mage. He brought her to Quel’Thalas once but relations between humans and quel’dorei were tense after the second war. She got lost in the Eversong Woods, a pair of rangers mistook her for a spy and one of them shot her.”

“That ranger was you”, Sylvanas reminds him dryly, surprised at herself to have remembered this detail.

“You shot the mighty archmage Jaina Proudmoore?”, Baine bursts out into a booming laughter.

Sylvanas’ ears twitch in irritation. She hadn’t heard such a heartful sound in a long time. None of them had any reason to do so much as smile lately. It is… not unpleasant.

“She wasn’t that mighty back then, just a promising apprentice”, Lor’themar shrugs as if it would somehow diminish the act. “Anyway, it was how we met her. After chewing me out, the ranger-general treated the wound and carried her back to Silvermoon City. Kael’thas was furious to say the least.”

“This… Does not explain a lot.”

More memories flood her mind, the first time she saw her smile and heard her laugh laugh, the flicker of her own ears as she kissed her, and more. She remembers Vereesa’s teasing at having fallen for a human, just like her sisters. Sylvanas looks away, allowing the sin’dorei to explore the rest of the story.

“We discovered shortly that Kael’thas’ feelings were not returned. Regardless, after that visit, Jaina returned to Quel’Thalas many times. And our beloved ranger-general took a sudden keen interest in traveling to Dalaran. However, I always thought after Arthas…”, the sin’dorei trails off.

“I see”, is all Baine offers. He turns his giant head to Sylvanas and waits for her to meet his eyes. “I take it, this… dalliance is still ongoing, then?”

She grits her teeth, thinking about how exactly their current state of relationship could be defined. Feelings are involved, on Jaina’s part at least. Sylvanas herself isn’t sure if the little she’s even capable of feeling could be called love. still, it is there, and only when the mage is concerned. But other than that? On the occasion that they do meet not surrounded by war and destruction, they tend to argue more than anything else. There is always the occasional touch, the subtle seeking for closeness, and there have been times Sylvanas found herself giving in despite everything in her mind screaming at her not to.

“It is complicated.”

“Obviously”, he snorts. “You are the warchief of the Horde and she is the most powerful mage sworn to the Alliance.”

“Don’t forget de facto aunt to the boy-king”, Lor’themar provides unhelpfully.

“So, what does this mean exactly? In terms of our plans and this war?”

“Nothing much”, Sylvanas shrugs. “I have always been devoted to my duty first and foremost, as has she.”

Lor’themar and Baine do not look convinced as she says it. And though the words are mean truthfully, neither does she. The tauren excuses himself curtly and moves to leave but stops in the doorway for a second.

“I hope you find a way, Warchief.”

Sylvanas stares after him, her eyes burning as she’s trying to decipher what exactly he meant with those words. A way for what? Making it work? Getting rid of her?

“I want to apologize, Sylvanas”, Lor’themar interrupts her train of thought eventually. “I should not have compared you to him, but I do worry.”

“I know, old friend.”

He nods and gets back to his feet, granting her a smile. It’s thin, but honest, a reminder of the familiarity they once shared with each other.

“For what it’s worth, as much as I am surprised, I am also glad. For you. Many have been left by their loved ones after the third war, especially among the forsaken. It is nice to see Jaina does not share this sentiment with many of the other living.”

She doesn’t answer and the sin’dorei takes it as his permission to leave. But before he is gone, a voice calls him back.

“Lor’themar.”

“Yes?”

“If I were to need a discreet mage for teleportation, would you be able to provide me with one?”

This time, his grin splits his entire face in two, the scar along the left side of his face folds into itself. He knows why she asks him for this, and she isn’t sure if she hates the way he obviously approves.

“Yes, my lady. I would.”

**Author's Note:**

> ask me anything on [tumblr](https://nd-mindoir.tumblr.com/)


End file.
